A few years ago I went to Wisconsin with my mother
to visit her roots. We went to Lake Geneva, her
birthplace, and saw the house where she was raised. As
she stood in the front yard, I videotaped her as she
reminisced about living there, her stories sprinkled with
recollections of life with her father. She told me about
how he would rake the leaves up in the yard and call her
so she could come jump in them, after which he would
rake them again, and let her jump again, as often as she
wanted. Mother told me that sometimes he would rake
the leaves into long lines, forming rooms so that she could play house in them.
We stood on the sandy shore of the lake and mother told of how she and her
dad would stand there watching a storm come in over the water. Then just
before it got to shore he would grab her hand and they would run as fast as
they could back to their house, and collapse on the front porch just before the
rain got to them, laughing hard all the while.
My mother's father, Will Tuchlinsky, owned a store in town which he lost during the depression. He also was a calligrapher and painted signs for businesses. And he was a singer, with a marvelous baritone voice. He sang for the love of singing, but also was able to supplement his income by employment as a soloist at a local church. In fact, he was even singing when he died. Puppa, as his grandchildren called him, was working on an assembly line when he died of coronary thrombosis. He was singing "I'll Be Seeing You" as he fell to the ground.
I never knew Puppa. He died several years before I was born. But I have always felt a connection to him, not only because of the shared interests of music and calligraphy, but also because I understand our temperaments are similar.
That trip I took to Wisconsin with my mother is a happy memory for me, one which I will treasure forever. And when I view the videotape of our trip I am reminded once more of the eternal nature of families, and the joy of knowing just a little more about those who preceded me. May we each rejoice in those who came before, and perhaps by doing so gain insight into ourselves and those who will follow in our footsteps.